"While it's painful now, it won't be later." The smooth, honey-soaked voice echoed through the stone room and drifted through her mind. "Just relax." He said casually.
Her hands are shackled directly to a stone wall and above her head; there is no chain and she can't move. Her body felt weak and she shuttered in the cold environment. She leaned her forehead against the stone and waited for the punishment that was promised to her.
His warm hand was suddenly pressed against her bare lower back to force her closer to the stone wall. She immediately felt the steel belt that was also attached directly to the wall tighten around her hips. His hand disappeared and next came the bindings around her legs and ankles. Thankfully he let her keep her trousers on. She still has healing wounds that could get infected if she wasn't wearing any. She knows he could care less about her wounds, but if they get infected, the longer they would take to heal, which means the longer he has to wait before enforcing more punishment.
The man turned away and his footsteps let her know he is putting distance between them. She sagged against the wall stained with blood. Her own blood. This is her spot. It always has been and that won't change. Nobody else has been here except for her. Her ragged and bloody fingers claw against the rough surface as she squirms.
"Be still now, Eila." His deep voice said as the sound of billows breathed air into a pit of hot coals. The sound of metal against metal touched her ears and her breathing became frantic and erratic. It's branding day.
She looked behind her and watched the man with black hair work the coals until the fire blazed with an almost yellow light. She turned away quickly and tried to get more comfortable. The binding around her ankles are too tight and they're cutting into her skin, causing old wounds to bleed. She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes.
He returned and his hand grabbed the back of her head to force it against the stone. "You will be still. I'll do everything in my power to make sure of that." He said darkly in her ear. She closed her eyes against it and simply nodded. "Yes sir." She said as confidently as possible, because if she let the sounds of her own panic leech into her voice, the punishment would only get worse.
The man nodded, the black stained leather breastplate he wore creaked against the movement of his broad shoulders. He righted himself and gently let his fingers brush her long black hair out of the way and over her bare shoulders. She shivered and tried to discreetly press herself further against the wall to try to get away. "You have your mother's eyes, but you will always have my hair and my smile. Remember you will always be half of me." He growled. "You are my daughter, Eila, I expect more from you than what you've given me which is constant disobedience and traitorous behavior." He walked back over to the pit of coals and pulled down on the horn attached to the billows, which in turn pulled the bottom paddle up to blow air against the hot coals.
She braced herself, the muscles in her bare back tensing as she hugged the wall tightly.
Galbatorix pulled the branding iron from the coals, glowing bright yellow before it cooled enough to be light orange. It was in the shape of a braid, similar to the designs the dwarves carve into their stone monuments. It was almost three inches wide and nearly three feet in length and curved specifically to the contours of her body. It would start at the base of her neck and travel down to her tailbone.
He walked over to her and lined the brand up vertically along her spine. "Repeat after me, Eila." He tutted, waiting for the iron to cool to a dim orange before he pressed it to her skin.
"Repeat after me, Eila." She said obediently, the tension in her back grew ever tighter when she felt the heat near her bare flesh.
"I will not ask for what is not mine." He said clearly with anger in his tones.
"I will not ask for what is not-" the brand touched her back and she screamed, tearing her throat to shreds.
"Eila." He said calmly with the brand still pressed to her body, the smell of burning flesh clouded her nose.
"I-I will not ask f-for what is n-not m-mine." She gritted through the pain as tears fell from her eyes. Her throat bobbed as she fought the urge to cry out again.
"Good." He slowly pulled the brand away and Eila relaxed, the cauterized flesh cracking painfully as she moved.
She jumped when the brand was quenched in oil to cool it down. A water quench cracks metal. An oil quench strengthens it. He's too impatient for it to cool on its own, so he dipped the hot end into the black oil and left it there.
Her whole body sagged against the cold stone and held her tears back with a determination that came from something akin to fighting for her life. She can't let him know she's weak.
Galbatorix released the compression buckles that bound the shackles to her wrists and as soon as they were open, her arms fell. Her shoulders and head remained leaning against the cool stone as her back throbbed from the burns. She couldn't move very well, nor did she want to.
Her father loomed over her. He knelt and undid the bindings on her legs and ankles, then reached up and wrapped his arm around her much smaller waist. A broken cry of pain escaped from her lips when the rough leather of his breastplate touched the fresh burn. He undid the steel belt around her hips and caught her as gently as he could when she fell, her body too weak to support her own weight.
He carefully shifted her so his left arm supported her knees and his right remained wrapped around her back. She leaned against his chest and closed her eyes, refusing to look at him as she brought her arms up to cover her bare chest. Her head rested against his shoulder and he walked smoothly to avoid jostling her.
She felt like falling asleep, except she was in too much pain to rest. Everything hurt.
They walked into a separate room with a bed and no windows, a nightstand and a cabinet full of antiseptic and different creams for different wounds. He brought her to the bed and helped her lay down on her stomach. Once she was situated, he stood and headed over to the closet full of first aid supplies and pulled it open. He pulled down several vials and several rolls of gauze.
Galbatorix turned and set the supplies on the nightstand, then pulled up a chair from a writing desk that sat mostly abandoned in the corner and sat in it. He reached for and opened a brown glass bottle and poured its contents onto his hands and rubbed it in. He then took the bottle and poured a line of the brown aqueous substance directly onto Eila's new wounds. Her fingers curled over and bunched up the sheets but she didn't make a sound. She instead closed her eyes against the pain and waited in silence for it to be over. While the burns themselves didn't hurt, the areas around them did.
She felt his fingers spread the substance over the blackened, charred, and cracked flesh. The branding iron was too hot and it was kept on for too long, leaving her with fourth degree burns.
He then wiped the wound down using a piece of gauze cloth and set the now soiled piece of fabric aside. He reached over and picked up a clear bottle filled with a syrupy white liquid and poured it over her wounds. She felt instant relief and her grip on the bed lessened, but she didn't let go entirely.
Again, Galbatorix spread the substance across her back, then gave it a few minutes before wiping it off. It fizzed, loosening the blackened pieces of flesh and releasing them, cleaning the wound. Once the foam turned grey, he wiped it off, leaving the burn yellowed and reddened.
Next came the healing cream and the dressing. He laid the cloth across the vertical wound and pressed it down after applying the cream. His sigh seemed frustrated and long, but he leaned over and kissed the side of her head with a tenderness she wished he had all the time. She knew it wasn't genuine, though, and that hurt more than her burns. "Don't move too much until Murtagh gets here. He will finish dressing your wounds. I've instructed him to partially heal you. Your punishment must remain."
"Thank you." She whispered softly, unable to speak much louder due to her earlier abuse.
"You are my daughter, it is expected. Try to sleep. I expect to see you tomorrow for lessons. Don't disappoint me."
"Yes sir." She responded in the same tone as before.
"Good." He pushed the chair back as he stood, rising high above her. He returned the wooden seat back under the desk where it belonged and the vials to their place in the cabinet. He left without a second glance at her and she watched him leave before closing her eyes to the sting of her tears that she was ever so used to.
The sound of the door closing had the volume of an explosion.
Eila's eyes shot open and she sat upright. Her breathing was ragged and her whole body was drenched in sweat. She took one look around the dark room and instantly burst into a fit of quiet sobbing. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face between them to hide herself. She hated dreams like this, vivid memories brought to life. It felt like she was living them again. Her fingers gripped the bedsheets and she tried her best to calm herself down.
"Eila?" She felt Eylörís' mental familiarity brush against her mind and she let the feeling soothe and calm her. The white and blue dragon had decided to sleep outside as they had argued about letting Shruikan stay in the room with them only hours before.
"It was just a dream." She replied shakily. "I'm okay."
"No you're not." Eylörís spoke gently and calmly. "I know when you're okay and when you're not okay, and right now, you're not okay. Would you let me in? I want to be with you."
Eila sighed and wiped her eyes. She forced herself out of bed and as soon as she was up, she headed directly for the door. She opened it and smiled weakly to Eylörís, who at this point was a little bit taller than her Rider when sitting on her hind legs. Eila stepped aside and waited for her dragon to enter, then closed the door behind them.
Eylörís jumped up onto the large bed and curled up, waiting for her Rider to come join her.
Eila climbed up and exhaustedly dropped herself onto the bed, then scooted closer so she could hug Eylörís' neck. She buried her face in the dragon's soft blue underside, taking comfort in the embrace.
Closing her eyes, the young woman took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth while she continued to try calming herself down.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Eylörís offered.
Eila remained silent as she continued to recover from her nightmare. "I-I don't know what there is to talk about." She said quietly.
"Did your burns heal up okay?" Eylörís asked gently.
"Oh… yes, I think so. I can't exactly see behind me, but I also know how my skin heals up when burned and the design he chose probably looks very clear. I can feel it when I touch it. The skin is raised."
"And your movement is okay? I'm worried about your back, he could have seriously hurt you…"Eylörís said with overwhelming concern.
"I know… I consider myself lucky that I turned out okay. It was the last major punishment he gave me besides my shoulder before he fell. The closer the Varden grew to Ilirea, the more distracted he was. He couldn't find random things to be angry with me about because he was too busy preparing everyone in the castle for battle."
"But your shoulder was serious."
"Oh, no, that was minor, and I didn't know how to take care of it which made it serious." Eila waved her hand at the suggestion.
"It makes me angry that Galbatorix would ever do something like that to you."
Eila seemed to shrink at that. "There are always consequences to the things we do. Some are more extreme than others. That was his intended lesson."
"Are you defending him?" Eylörís spoke, shocked.
"N-no! Never… he made it seem like he was justified in his assessment to hurt me and… I believed him." Eila shied away. "I-I didn't know any better." Eylörís could feel her Rider's trembling and she instantly knew the question hurt the young woman.
"I'm sorry, Eila, I didn't mean to make you upset." She apologized immediately.
"It's okay…" the half-Elf said quietly. "Let's not talk about this anymore…"
"Of course." Eylörís shifted so her chin rested upon Eila's head. "You should try to get some rest. We have a big day later on today." She tried more positively.
"That we do. Arya and Fírnen are nice. I look forward to seeing them."
"As do I. Have I mentioned the way Fírnen's scales glisten in the sun?"
"Yes, I believe you have." Eila smiled, knowing Eylörís fancied the green dragon to a high degree.
"And his voice is deep and rich, like diving into the finest and clearest wells of water."
"Mhm." Eila closed her eyes while her dragon started rambling. She's already heard this before, but she couldn't blame Eylörís. Inside, though, it caused her pain because who would love her, daughter of Galbatorix? Eylörís had someone to fawn after, even if it was in private due to being inappropriate given that Fírnen is her teacher. She had no one. The love shared between a Rider and their dragon is stronger than anything, so was it forbidden to love another? A thought popped into her head. Arya's pregnant. She must love somebody enough to have a baby with them. Maybe loving someone wasn't forbidden after all.
Eila reached behind her head and felt the raised flesh at the base of her neck from where the branding iron kissed her skin. Her body has been mutilated. Nobody would love that. She pulled herself away from the dragon who lay on her bed and slid into a standing position on the hard stone floor. She yanked her long-sleeved shirt off and walked to the mirror that hung across from the bed.
Eylörís stared at her Rider, and the hundreds of scars that criss crossed her skin, the main one being the braid that traveled up her back. She now understood why Eila refused to wear anything except for long-sleeves and pants. Even though they can see into each other's minds and know their past, they each kept an unspoken rule to not take what is not theirs.
She watched as the lean muscles in Eila's body rippled beneath her skin. Her weight was concerning, however. She looked almost skeletal, like a human anatomy diagram that included only muscles and bones which was given to the workers in the medical wards for reference while switching, setting, or otherwise fixing a patient.
Long scars and short scars, raised, flat, darkened, pinkeded, silvery, red and more recent, jagged or pock-marked and circular in shape marked almost every inch of her flesh. Twenty thin, vertical tick marks were lined up neatly just above her left breast. Those have been branded as well. Eila's fingers traced them carefully as if they hurt to touch. She sighed. "It's almost branding day again. I suppose that means I'll be another year older. I still don't know how old I am. I can only recall the past fifteen years and that's a massive 'maybe' because the days and events just kind of… blend together in my memory." Eylörís could see the tears in her eyes through the reflection in the mirror.
"Your scars show that you survived. That's something to be proud of. If not knowing your age bothers you, perhaps make an age for yourself."
Eila turned and frowned at that. "Make an age? But that wouldn't be my real age…"
"It would be something to tell people to avoid the conversation. At least for now. Most everyone we've spoken to knows that you don't know your age, but when we arrive in… where Arya and Fírnen are taking us for training, you could tell people that you're whatever age you want to be."
"Ellesméra, and that would be lying." Eila supplied with a frown.
"There is a reasonable cause behind it, though. If you don't have an age, it's reasonable to make one for yourself."
Eila just sighed. "Fine. How old do you think I am?" She turned to Eylörís in full, then slid her loose shirt back over her head, tying the laces that lined the collar so it hid the scars on her chest.
"You could go by the number of scars on your chest." Eylörís suggested.
"One hundred and eighty-eight?" She replied with a light frown. "I don't think they'll believe I'm that old.
"I meant the twenty on your chest that we think marks your age, though do you know how many scars you hold?" The white dragon asked.
"Oh… then saying I'm twenty is probably fine, and no, I don't. I only know how many I can see and how many I can feel. There could be more that I've since forgotten about or that I can't see or reach." she shrugged and climbed back into bed.
"And how many would that be?"
"Five hundred and twenty-six. Thankfully, it's an even number, otherwise I would need to fix it." Eila sighed and curled her back up against Eylörís' belly.
"Don't hurt yourself, Eila. Not intentionally at least. Go to sleep, you need rest. I'll help you." The dragon said calmly, though internally horrified that Eila would actually give herself another scar just so the amount she had would be an even number.
"Okay…" Eila murmured, allowing her heavy eyelids to slide closed and Eylörís draped a wing over her Rider as she let soothing feelings drift through their bond. It wasn't long before Eila fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A/N: Hello! I was in a dark mood when I wrote this can't you tell? Being branded does hurt, though. I've dropped screaming hot metal on myself before, now I have a scar in the shape of a fork on my forearm (I was making a bracelet). Anyways, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter despite it being negative, but I also wanted to introduce Eila a little bit more as well as Eylörís.
Love you all and thank you guys for your lovely comments! I adore reading them.
-Lady Arlo
P.S. Assuming all goes well for Arya, I do have the name of her son picked out and it's not Juniper ;)